


Fictober 2018

by basedfran



Series: Kiddie Squad [3]
Category: Katekyou Hitman Reborn!
Genre: Definitely OOC, Gen, Not Beta Read, absolutely none of this is supposed to be taken seriously, as always, bc i write and post these right before bed every day, everyone is lgbt but this one might cause confusion, i swear mitsuru is a real character look him up, ill put the time if i feel like it means anything, inktober 2018 used as writing prompts, no proofreading at all actually, nonbinary fuuta, not chronological, short one-shots from the same post-canon universe, so im stating it right now, sorry artists, sorry readers, you can guess the time but i dont think it matters
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-10-04
Updated: 2018-11-07
Packaged: 2019-07-25 00:55:32
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 28
Words: 10,568
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16186718
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/basedfran/pseuds/basedfran
Summary: collection of short one-shots mostly focused on my favorite characters (which are all basically side characters)





	1. Poisonous

**Author's Note:**

> i needed to do something so i wouldnt completely stop writing so here are sloppy one-shots

Bianchi notices the sheen of the tea immediately, but although her heart gives a giddy little flutter, she doesn’t say anything.

Liquids are reflective; they shine in the light all the time. The little green twinkle she spotted out the corner of her eye could just be from the sunlight streaming in through the sliding door. She doubts that it’s what she thinks it could be.

But she keeps an eye on the cup as it moves from Fuuta’s hand to Mukuro’s just in case.

She can’t help the delighted gasp she lets out when Mukuro is suddenly on the floor coughing and heaving.

“Wha- _ Mukuro! _ ” Tsuna straightens up in his seat and cranes his neck to look over the coffee table at his fallen guest, eyebrows knitted together in worry and confusion.

He does not, however, leave his seat to check on him. “C’mon, shake it off.” he says, fairly certain Mukuro’s not going to just drop dead. “You’re strong.”

Fuuta, who was halfway out the door when Mukuro started choking, presses the tray they’re holding hard against their chest and looks down at Mukuro in shock but not horror.

“Oh, Fuuta!” Bianchi gushes, pride welling up in her eyes in the form of tears as she looks down at them, placing her hands on their shoulders. “You’re a  _ natural _ at poison cooking.”

“I-I didn’t  _ try _ to poison him.”

“I know,” Bianchi says, pulling them into a warm squeeze as she looks on at Mukuro’s suffering with a pleased smile on her face. “Making poison cooking this painful without it being deliberate? Oh, you must be a  _ genius _ .”


	2. Roasted

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> this is actually day three's thing, but day two's was romantic and i don't post romantic fics lol

Fuuta and Fran are woken up by the sounds of the fire alarm going off and they think, in perfect synchronization, ‘ _ They’ve finally done it. Lambo and I-Pin have finally set the house on fire. _ ’

While Fran buries his face in his pillow and accepts a fiery demise, Fuuta leaps out of bed, stumbling over Fran’s legs on their way to the door.

“Francis!” they yell as they rush towards the stairs. “Stop accepting death!”

With a labored sigh, Fran gets up and starts shuffling after them at a snail’s pace, still hugging his pillow to his chest.

Something in the oven is completely ablaze by the time he makes it to the kitchen entrance and the kids are flapping dish towels at it and Fuuta’s screaming at them  _ Don’t  _ **_do_ ** _ that, you’re fanning the flames! _ as they run around the house trying to figure out where they last saw the fire extinguisher.

Fran leans against the kitchen doorway and yawns, tempted to slink back up to Fuuta’s room and go back to sleep.

“Francis, don’t you  _ dare _ .” Fuuta says, casually reading his mind amidst all the chaos. They rifle through the pantry once again, still coming up with nothing. “Help me find the fire extinguisher.”

“Behind the fridge.” Fran mutters, sliding down the doorway and onto the floor, his apathy lulling him to sleep.

Fuuta squeezes their arm behind the fridge and yanks out the dusty, red canister with a couple yanks.

They spray it as soon as they get good grip on the nozzle, Lambo and I-Pin diving out of the way.

The oven and two neighboring countertops are burnt and foaming by the time they’re through, but Fuuta is too relieved no one died to scream at anyone yet.

They collapse into one of the dining chairs. “What’s the excuse?” they ask, gasping for breath.

“We were trying to roast marshmallows.” Lambo says, already preparing his best defense against Fuuta: tears. His shoulders shake as he hiccups, a deep pout etched onto his face.

“At-” they glance at the clock hanging above the sink, “-3 AM?”

“We wanted to sneak it before Mama and Bianchi and Tsuna get back.” I-Pin says, also flashing them her most pitiful look.

“ _ Please don’t tell on us! _ ” Lambo cries and the two throw their arms around Fuuta, teary eyes and sniffling.

They blink up at their older sibling as Fuuta absentmindedly brushes their tears away from their cherubic faces, looking down at their younger siblings fondly.

“If you don’t clean this up by morning, I’ll let Bianchi kill you.” Fuuta says, giving them both a kiss on the forehead before walking out the kitchen, remembering at the doorway to (literally) drag Fran upstairs with them.


	3. Spell

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> oops, missed a couple days. oh well, i have six chapters to make up for them. i decided to pull from the inktober prompt list, but ive stopped going in order. i cant find inspiration for some of the prompts yet and its really killing momentum

“Hold still.”

“I am.”

“No, you’re not, Lammy, we can all see you kicking your legs under the sheet.  _ Hold still. _ Or this will end bad.”

Lambo rolls his eyes but puts his feet together and tries to stay still despite thinking this is all nonsense.

Fran came into the house just fifteen minutes ago with a ghost white sheet in hand telling everyone he’s learned how to do magic without flames, so they were doing a demonstration.

Everyone knew it had to be a prank or some sick joke, so they played rock-paper-scissors to decide who would be Fran’s victim.

‘ _ I really need to stop using just rock.’  _ Lambo thought, gripping the seat of his chair as Fran flaps the sheet out again and carefully lays it over his whole body for the fifth time.

“It has to be perfect or else it’ll be like the cat...” he mutters, tugging the sheet so it hangs just below Lambo’s dangling feet.

Lambo furrowed his eyebrows. “What’re you-”

“Okay, I think we’re ready.” Fran says. Lambo can feel his hands hovering over his head. “Now I’m going to recite the incantation. Everyone, especially the subject, must remain perfectly still and silent.”

In a low, guttural voice, Fran begins to mutter in an odd language unknown to Lambo.

‘ _ Whatever. _ ’ Lambo thinks. ‘ _ It’s all just an act. _ ’ Surprisingly, he’s not scared at all.

Until the lights start flickering.

He can’t see any shapes past the sheet, but he can tell that it’s getting darker and lighter and back again, as if the wiring in the house is going wonky. He hears Fran’s audience, his siblings, let out audible gasps, genuine shock laced in the sound. He bites his lip and feels around for even just a spark of mist flames coming from Fran.

He can’t feel anything.

The lights slowly begin to stabilize as Fran finishes the incantation.

He yanks the sheet off Lambo without warning.

The action is met with a chorus of hushed, horrified gasps.

“...Lambo?” Tsuna whispers, staring in Lambo’s direction but through him, as if he wasn’t there. His eyes quiver as he runs a nervous hand through his hair, shuddery breath making Lambo’s stomach twist.

“I told you I could do it.” Fran says, walking around the chair to sit on the couch across from Lambo, folding the sheet and setting it on his lap.

Lambo hops off the chair, knees buckling like a baby doe’s as he takes in his family’s disbelieving looks.

All of them have the same stare Tsuna has, looking towards him but not  _ at _ him.

“Where did he go?” I-Pin croaks, one hand tugging anxiously at one of her braids, the other clutching her chest.

“Uh, I don’t know. I’ve only done this once before, and I could never find the cat I used.”

“What do you mean?” Fuuta demands. “Where is he? Is he invisible or did you send him off somewhere?”

“ _ Guys, _ ” Lambo says, words firm but small. “I’m right here.”

Bianchi clicks her tongue and leans forward against the couch. “You couldn’t have made it so we couldn’t hear him either?” she asks, looking at Fran.

“Next time.”

“Lambo? Lambo, baby, where are you?” Fuuta calls, looking around the room as they carefully make their way towards where they heard Lambo’s voice came from. Their hands are outstretched, groping the air to try and feel him out.

“I-I’m right here, Fuuta!” Lambo says, getting a little more nervous. He rushes over, ignoring how his knee knocks against the coffee table, and grabs one of their outstretched hands.

Fuuta  _ screams _ .

“Oh my God!  _ Oh my God! _ ” they screech, backing up into a wall with a thud. “L-Lambo was that you?”

“So he can talk and touch things, but we just can’t touch him?” I-Pin asks, inching over to the spot Fuuta just vacated, waving her arms out to try and feel where Lambo is.

“At least we know he’s not a ghost now.” Tsuna says, biting his lips and tugging at his hair. He glances at Fran. “When can you make him normal again?”

“Oh. You didn’t want him to stay like this?”

“ _ Francis! _ ” Fuuta shouts right in time with I-Pin’s scream as her hand brushes against Lambo’s cheek. “You have to turn him back!”

“I don’t know how. I only know one spell.”

“You can’t turn me back?” Lambo whimpers, eyes watering. He stumbles around, not knowing whether to run to Tsuna or Fuuta or I-Pin for comfort.

“We are going to get into so much trouble with mom.” Tsuna mutters, pacing around, trying to think of something they could do.

“Maybe we can cover him in flour or something, like in the cartoons.” I-Pin suggests.

“That’s a waste of flour.” Bianchi says.

Lambo decides on running to Fuuta and tackles their legs. They’re startled, letting out a surprised squeal, but they bend down to pat where they imagine Lambo’s back is.

“Fran, find a spell to turn me back!”

“I don’t really know if there is one, but hey, now that no one can see you you can be a ninja. That’s fun.”

“ _ I don’t wanna be a ninjaaaaaa! _ ” Lambo bursts into tears, gripping the front of Fuuta’s shirt until his knuckles turn red. “ _ I want you guys to see me! Change me back, change me back,  _ **_change me back!_ ** ”

“ _ What _ is going  _ on _ here?”

Nana appears in the doorway with grocery bags hanging up and down her arms.

“ _ Mama! _ ” Lambo pushes off from Fuuta to cling to her leg, snot dripping out his nose. “ _ You can’t see me, but Mama, I’m here! Fran made me invisible, but he won’t change me back. _ ”

Nana blinks down at Lambo, staring straight at him.

“Sweetheart, you’re not invisible.”

Lambo stares at Nana before turning to his siblings, everyone of them trying to smother amused grins or smirks or giggles behind their hands.

“It’s a miracle.” Fran says, tossing his hands up and doing lazy jazz hands.

The living room is absolutely demolished by the tantrum Lambo throws.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> i may be a little mean to lambo, but this is based off a friend who used to get tricked by their siblings and cousins as a kid. like lambo they're pretty gullible


	4. Cruel

“Fran, what are you _doing_?” Lambo and I-Pin cry as the walk into the kitchen, a look of horror clear on their face as they eye the knife he held, still in the perfect position position to start stabbing.

“I’m carving this pumpkin so you two can have the stupid jack o lantern you were begging Fuuta for. What else could I be doing?”

“You can’t carve him up! You’ll _kill_ him.” Lambo says, I-Pin nodding furiously in agreement.

“‘ _Him_ ’?” Fran asks, one of his messy eyebrows quirking up.

Fuuta, who had been properly shutting and locking the door and neatly arranging the shoes the kids kicked off at the front door, comes in with a wry smile on their face. “Their substitute this week put on this weird Christian vegetable show and now they think they have feelings.”

“You can’t tell the difference between reality and fiction?” Fran asks, giving Lambo and I-Pin a cursory look before turning his attention back to the pumpkin. “I don’t care if this stupid thing has feelings. You woke me up at 3 AM the other day to go out and pick it and if you tell me we’re not going to carve it, I’m carving something _else_.”

Lambo screams as he brings the knife down and stabs into the bottom of the gourd, and I-Pin averts her eyes, sniffling a bit.

With a couple of overly harsh arm movements, Fran carves a hole at the bottom, making merry murder as he raps, “ _Hey there lit-tle pumpkin piiieee~! I’m gonna carve out your eyes~! And rip out your in-sides!_ ”

The kids push past Fuuta to run upstairs, sobbing audibly.

“ _Francis!_ ” Fuuta snaps, placing their hands on their hips and fixing Fran with a sharp glare.

“It’s a fucking pumpkin, love.” Fran say, not sparing them a glance as he removes the bottom piece he carved out and begins gutting his victim. “Plus, I’m pretty sure they both killed at least one man each.”

Unable to argue with that, Fuuta clicks their tongue at Fran and rushes upstairs after their kids.

They find the two crying, curled up under the blankets on I-Pin’s bed.

“Aw, don’t cry, you guys. It’s _okay_.”

“ _He killed Jack in cold blood!_ ” Lambo screeches, voice coming out muffled through the blankets.

Figuring it wouldn’t help to point out that ‘Jack’ wasn’t really alive, Fuuta tries to reason with them from a different angle.

“It’s not much different than when people kill animals for food.” they say, sitting down on the edge of the bed. “You guys love chicken and beef and the sushi Take-nii brings over.”

“But we never had to watch an innocent creature be slaughtered.” I-Pin retaliates, poking her head out from under the sheets. Her eyes are red rimmed. “Fran didn’t even care we were watching. I don’t think I could ever eat pumpkin again.”

“Me neither.”

“I’m sorry, but you have to forgive him. Fran-“ They to a second to think up a reason that was more forgivable than just plain apathy. “-was raised in the country. He watched animals get killed for food all the time. He thinks it’s normal.”

The kids sniffle and get up, crawling over to wrap their arms around Fuuta. “Can you stay with us for a little while? Hugging you makes me feel less bad.” Lambo asks, muttering into their chest.

“Of course, let’s take a nap before dinner then.”

* * *

Fuuta wakes up to a knock at the bedroom door, but the kids are already up an alert from catching a whiff of the air.

Something sweet and cinnamon-y tickles their noses as they sit up, watching curiously as the door swings open.

Fran walks in with a tray, a full sized pumpkin pie and a large bowl of whipped cream sitting on top of it innocently. He sets it on the low table in the middle of the room and sits beside it, serving knife glistening in his hand.

“Oh, Francis, this is just in poor taste.” Fuuta says, sitting up in bed. “You can’t serve them Jack after you killed him before their eyes.”

“If they want to be super vegans and never eat fruits or vegetables for the rest of their lives, that’s fine with me.” Fran says, shrugging as he plates slices of the pie. “But this corpse isn’t going to taste as good when it’s cold, and if you guys aren’t going to have any, I’m eating it myself.”

Fuuta looks at the kids and noticed that, though they’re close to crying again, they look _very_ hungry.

“I’m a _monster_.” Lambo cries jumping out the bed to secure a slice for himself.

I-Pin lets out an unintelligible whimper as she scurries after him, also rushing to shovel pie into her mouth.

The kids sob and cry as they eat the pie, guilt etched on their faces, but they still go back for seconds.


	5. Muddy

Fuuta watches the other children play backyard from their spot leaning against the window with a bitter expression etched into their face, nose wrinkling and lips pursed.

With the rain pattering against the window pane like a onslaught of tiny bullets firing, their body is too sluggish and heavy to join their friends outside and play in the wet dirt and it’s made them a little sour.

Even Bianchi coming in to wrap a blanket around them and give them a cup of tea (which they don’t drink, but keep hold of for the warmth it gives off) didn’t do much to dilute their absolutely acidic mood, though this could because Fuuta  _ wants _ to be moody.

They could go and read or paint or do anything else, but instead they’re sitting stuck by the window, glaring down at their friends, feeling envious and betrayed.

None of them (Lambo, I-Pin, or Fran) had even taken a moment to invite them.

‘ _ It’s because you’d say no, dummy. _ ’ they think to themself, but that only makes them feel worse for feeling angry and put-out over nothing.

“Are you going to sit there cutting your eyes at us all day?”

Fran appears in their room so quickly that they don’t have time to register he’s disappeared from downstairs until they’re jumping out of their skin at the sound of his voice.

They whirl around (the motion aggravating their very present nausea), a gasp escaping their lips.

Fran stands a couple feet away from them in his soaking wet pink raincoat and matching muddy rain boots (hand-me-downs from MM or Chrome, maybe). Letting the floor around him get slick and wet as he unzips his coat, shaking water droplets onto the floor, he kicks off his boots and makes his way towards the window.

“I told you to stop teleporting everywhere. The muscles in your legs will atrophy if you’re any lazier.”

“I’m being nice and coming to sit with you and this is the welcome I get?” Fran mutters, crawling up onto the ottoman Fuuta’s perched on. “I’m missing some grade A mud to be here.”

There’s still semi-wet, sticky mud on his pants, but Fuuta opens up their blankets and lets him share it anyways.

“You chose to come here on your own.” Fuuta says softly. It means  _ Thank you. _ in the special language only they and Fran know.

“You’re annoying.” Fran says, meaning  _ You’re welcome. _ “Is that tea?”

“Bianchi made it.” Fuuta says, already passing the still incredibly warm mug to Fran.

“Whatever. Not like  _ I’ll  _ get sick drinking it.” Fran grabs the mug and takes a large gulp, and Fuuta gags watching what looks like worm slide down his throat.

Legs tangling up in each other, the two watch I-Pin and Lambo chuck globs of mud at each other as the rain gently drums against the window.


	6. Chop

“If you bring that filthy thing in here I’m chopping it up and  _ frying _ it.” Bianchi says, eyes and kitchen knife shining as she glares down at Lambo, I-Pin, and the little beast they’re trying to smuggle into the house.

“ _ Please _ , Bianchi, he’s cold and hungry and lonely and scared!” Lambo whines, holding up the pup they found so he can flash puppy dog eyes at Bianchi, hoping it endears the woman enough to let him stay the night.

“Nuh uh. We have enough mouths to feed without picking up strays.” Bianchi says, casually ignoring the fact that all of  _ them _ were strays that forced their presence onto Tsuna and the Sawada household. “Put it back before Mama comes home. She’s too nice; she’ll let you keep it.”

“Don’t strays deserve love too?” I-Pin asks, trying to appeal to Bianchi’s loving heart.

“ _ No. _ ”

“We’ll revolt!” Lambo shrieks, stomping his little foot. “We won’t come in until he’s allowed with us.”

“Then stay out.” Bianchi says, slamming the door shut and going back to the kitchen to continue chopping vegetables for her latest dish. She figures it will only take five minutes, maybe half an hour tops before they ditch the dog and come inside for snacks.

* * *

 

It’s hour six and ten at night when Bianchi finally opens the door.

“You’re both so stupid.” she mutters, glare growing harder when she hears their stomachs grumbling pitifully. “Take the dumb thing to your room, but if it pees on anything I’m carving it up for breakfast.”

The two let out excited squeals, hugging and thanking Bianchi before rushing off upstairs.


	7. Prickly

It’s clear that Fran has a problem with authority and, though literally everyone else thinks otherwise, it becomes apparent to Tsuna that he views him as an annoying authority figure.

And, though usually he’d rejoice at someone  _ finally  _ taking him seriously, Tsuna can’t stand the way Fran acts towards him.

Fran keeps him (and his mother.  _ Nana. _ Of all people.) at arm’s length, eyes filling with what Tsuna’s intuition tells him is revulsion every time they happen to touch or even brush against each other in passing.

He only looks at Tsuna with contempt, little green eyes cutting into him like an icy wind until he finally turns his nose up at him and shadows Fuuta around the house.

And though Fran regards him with such cold eyes, he’s already deeply in love with the little brat, holding him just as dear as he does the other mooching little gremlins that tear up his house and steal his food everyday.

So Tsuna decides to actually  _ try _ to tame the prickly little demon despite having no experience doing so as every other child in his life loved him at first sight.

It’s rough stuff, especially when Fran is super annoying and possibly evil.

‘ _ But I guess it’s worth it. _ ’ Tsuna thinks one day as he’s draping a blanket over Fran and Fuuta as they take a nap on the porch and sees the corners of Fran’s lips quirk up just a bit as he clutches Fuuta’s sleeve.


	8. Double

“Do you guys celebrate Halloween?” a schoolyard pal of Lambo and I-Pin’s, Haruto, asks as the three of them climb and flip around on the jungle gym.

“Yeah, but we don’t get to trick-or-treat. No one else in our neighborhood celebrates it.” I-Pin says, pulling herself through the bars to sit on top of the steel dome.

“But our family always has a party every year!” Lambo adds, swinging his legs to try and hook his foot on one of the bars and missing every time. “You should come! We always have music and food and we do a test of courage and we all dress up in costumes.”

“That sounds fun, I’ll ask my mom if I can go.” Haruto says, grabbing Lambo’s foot and hooking it for him before climbing up to sit beside I-Pin. “What are you guys going to be this year?”

“Pumpkins!” I-Pin and Lambo chirp over each other, their enthusiasm leaking out through their pores. “We’re matching!”

“Pumpkins? I thought you were supposed to be something scary for Halloween.”

“Hm, I don’t know. I don’t think there’s anything that I think is scary that could be a costume.” I-Pin says. “Plus we’ve always been something cute rather than scary.”

“Yeah,  _ I’m  _ not afraid of anything.” Lambo says finally pulling himself up with them.

“There must be something you guys can think of. If my mom says I can go, we should see who can figure out the scariest thing to be. It could be fun, like a little contest.”

“We probably  _ are _ big enough to stop wearing cute costumes...” I-Pin says glancing at Lambo.

The two only have to lock eyes for a second to make their decision. “Okay! It’s a contest!”

* * *

“Fuuta, can you tell us if our Halloween costumes are scary enough?”

Fuuta looks up from their book to see Lambo and I-Pin poking their heads into their room. “Sure, but I thought you were going as pumpkins?”

"Us and our friend that we invited are having a contest to see who’s gonna be the scariest thing.”

“And we think we’ve figured out the scariest thing anyone could be!”

“Well, let’s see it then.” Fuuta says, setting their book on their bedside table.

The kids duck behind the corner and jump out and into the room in full costume.

Fuuta’s jaw  _ drops _ .

The two are standing there with their arms outstretched in a  _ Ta-da! _ Fashion. I-Pin was dressed as a werewolf, little felt ears drooping a little too adorably to truly be scary. Lambo’s costume, however,  _ definitely _ scares Fuuta just from them knowing the chaos it can cause.

Lambo stand there wearing black skinny jeans, a white tank top, and a pink-mauve wig that runs down to his butt.

“Are you  _ Bianchi? _ ” Fuuta asks, breath hitching a bit.

“Really easy to recognize right?” Lambo asks, puffing his chest out with pride. “Bianchi is probably the scariest thing in the universe!”

Fuuta claps their hands over their mouth to muffle a scream as they stare past the kids into the hall.

“What’re you-” Lambo nearly wets himself when he finally notices Bianchi towering over him with her arms crossed, gaze carving him up as she looks him up and down.

The aggressive halt in conversation leads into a nerve wrecking silence as Bianchi stares Lambo down.

“...Who put this mirror here?” she says after a while, a surprisingly pleased smile spreading on her face.

“You’re not mad?” Fuuta blurts out, relief washing over them as the realize they won’t have to bury Lambo today.

“Fuuta, please, imitation is the highest form of flattery.” Bianchi say, pinching a shaking Lambo’s cheek. “Besides-” A wicked look flashes on her face. “-he’s  _ right _ to fear me.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> ill edit the tags later, review if yall want good night


	9. Jolt

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> theres supposed to be 4 updates but two of them are romo and we dont do that on this account so whoops theres just two chapters

“500 yen and I’ll drink the whole thing.”

“I  _ really _ don’t think 500 yen is worth risking having to have your stomach pumped.”

“...So 2000 yen then?”

Fuuta sighs and hefts the dusty case of soda up from the floor onto the splintering, moldy coffee table and shines their flashlight on it. Pulling up their sleeve to cover their hand, they wipe away the layers of dust, shifting the box onto its other sides until they finally find what they’re looking for.

There, in the middle of the red box, the word ‘ _ Jolt _ ’ with a bright yellow, cartoon lightning bolt striking through the O sat staring at Fuuta who gazed back, bemused.

“I don’t think I’ve heard of  _ Jolt _ soda before.”

“Alright, 5000.” Fran says, sitting down next to the table, criss-crossing his legs.

“I’m not going to pay you to wreck your stomach.”

“Mi-chan?” Fran calls, cocking his head towards the stairs where said boy was coming down, attention occupied by some cup-and-ball game he found upstairs. “Dare me?”

Mitsuru’s eyes flicker up from his game and then lock on the case of soda. “I dare  _ us _ .” he says, rushing over, rotting wood creaking under his sneakers. He slides into the space across from Fuuta and stares as the case with breathless reverence. “We have to drink it together. It’s the best thing we’ve found in this house.”

“I don’t know. The ball-in-a-cup looks pretty nice.”

“Stop being lame, Fuuta.” Fran says, already whipping out his pocket knife to cut open the case. “Just shut up and crack some warm ones open with the boys.”

He slices the top down the middle with one clean cut and pulls it open, silvery tops of 24 cans glinting in the dim glow of Fuuta’s flashlight.

“Oh these are some tall boys.” Fran says, pulling one of the cans out and noticing they were all 16 ounces.

“Should we chug them?” Mitsuru asks, grabbing two for himself, one for each hand.

“I don't think we should drink them at all.” Fuuta says, grabbing a can anyways.

“It’s too late, you’ve been outvoted.” Fran opens his, the can (surprisingly) letting out the cliche  _ Clack! Hisssssss... _ fresher sodas release when they’re open.

Fuuta and Mitsuru follow suit, their cans producing similar sounds.

They all hold out their cans, letting the metals brush against each other.

“With this, we shall be bonded together for the rest of our lives.” Mitsuru says.

Fuuta rolls their eyes. “I thought the blood pact you made us do in fourth grade was supposed to do that.”

“That was our souls.” Mitsuru presses his can harder against Fuuta’s. “This will join our bodies.”

“You’re a real weirdo, you know that, Mi-chan?”

Mitsuru grins at them, smile brilliant even in this bleak lightning. “That’s why we’re best friends.”

The three of them smash their cans against each other and take a swig, taking comfort in knowing that, whatever happens, it’s happening to two other people as well.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> mitsuru is a real character not an oc, but he doesnt have a personality so i can do what i want with him lmao


	10. Slice

“My name is Inigo Montoya. You killed my father. Prepare to  _ die _ .”

Yamamoto doesn’t understand what he’s hearing until he recognizes the distinct  _ Shing! _ of a blade cutting through the air.

His heart stops when he hears a tiny voice whisper a horrified, “Oh  _ shit _ .”

Heart pounding, he’d be trembling if he wasn’t frozen in place right now.

The relief that washes over him when he hears quick, conspiratory muttering from the other room is great enough to rival the tranquility of his own flame.

He can’t quite describe the way he feels walking in the living room and seeing Lambo had only sliced the TV in half and hadn’t beheaded Fran.

There’s relief and gratitude, of course, as neither of them are injured, but there’s something else underneath that.

Quiet anger, maybe?

Pointed at the children for being reckless and pointed at himself for endangering them without even realizing it.

“We were just-”

“It’s fine.” Seeing the kids recoil at his voice tells him to fix his tone.

“Sorry.” he says, much warmer than his words before. He smiles at them, one hand shaking as he reaches up to ruffle Lambo’s hair, the other keeping his sword (sheathed as soon as he took hold of it) locked in his secure grip. “Dinner will be ready soon. Maybe you should go wash up upstairs.”

As he watches them rush upstairs, Yamamoto realizes why, despite his father’s passion for the sword, he could never find one in the house.


	11. Stretch

“Move into the warrior two pose.”

Lambo and I-Pin position their feet like the woman on the TV, their front foot pointing straight forward and their back foot pointing towards the left. They lean forward a bit so their front leg is slightly bent, their right and left arms stretched forward and backwards respectively.

“This isn’t so bad.” Lambo says, feeling the joints in his knees crack as he stretches.

“I told you.” I-Pin replies, a pleased smirk finding its way on her face as she gloats over the fact doing yoga together was all her idea.

“Now flip your front hand upwards and stretch back into the reverse warrior pose.” The woman on the TV flips the hand pointing towards the camera (her right hand) palm up and bends sideways so her arm is over her head pointing the other direction. Her left hand moves to rest palm out on the her right hip.

The two follow suit with ease.

“Next is the extended side angle pose.” Arms fluidly shifting out of the previous position, she rests her right arm on her right thigh and stretches her left arm over her head to the right.

Lambo and I-Pin follow her lead once again without much difficulty.

“Now, take a deep breath and come into a bind.” Her left arm twists around to lay palm out against her right hip. She then hooks her right arm under her right leg and grabs her left hand with her right.

“Um?” Lambo mumbles, eyes flickering towards I-Pin as she flawlessly executes the position.

Grunting a bit, Lambo reaches under his leg and grabs his other hand, wobbling a bit on his feet, but still in position.

“Now move into the bird of paradise pose.” The woman, arms still in the bind position, moves so her feet are parallel to each other before slowly straightening up, stretching her right leg up into a standing split.

“Oh fuck no.” Lambo snaps, crumbling onto his yoga matt as he looks at the screen in horror.

“Oh my God, you’re not even trying. It’s not even hard.” I-Pin says, right leg pointing straight up to create a perfect 180° line with her left leg.

“Maybe for you, Helen Parr, but some of us aren’t made of rubber.” Lambo says, pulling himself up into a sitting position and criss-crossing your legs.

“You can rest for a bit, but you’re doing the next big pose with me. The handstand scorpion. I used to do it with Master, it’s my favorite.”

Lambo throws himself back onto his side and groans, hoping the scorpion whatever pose would at least be easier than that bird of paradise nonsense.

It wasn’t.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> (https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=FjJjq8R2c88) this is a video i used for reference. too lazy to hyper link, but its the second pose


	12. Drooling

“Hey, this puppy is kind of like you.” Lambo says, hefting up the already very large pup from its cardboard box sitting on the side of the road.

The puppy seems to be a mastiff. It’s wrinkly and still chubby, despite this being the seventh day they passed it on their commute home from school. Its fur is a soft brown color.

I-Pin looks the creature over as she runs her hands over its soft fur (figuring it’s fine to pet it since Lambo already picked it up) but doesn’t catch any similarities.

“What do you mean?” she asks, letting out a gasp of adoration as the puppy turns its head to lick her palm. “Is it because it’s cute?”

Lambo snorts. “No! Look!” He holds the puppy so it was face to face with her. It stared at her with big brown eyes and flicked its tongue out to lick her nose then its own. Its saggy upper lips are dripping with saliva. “It drools like crazy, just like you when you sleep.”

“I do not!” I-Pin says, snatching the puppy out of his hands and kicking Lambo over, making him land butt first in a puddle. She starts heading off towards home again, cradling the puppy knowing they decided to bring it home as soon as Lambo laid hands on it.

“You do too!” Lambo shouts, scrambling to get up, the seat of his pants soaked through to the underwear and a muddy footprint on his chest. It drips down to his soaks as he waddles after her.

“Do  _ not _ !”

“Do  _ too _ !”

“ _ Do not!!! _ ”

* * *

The two continue back and forth all the way home.

That night, after a brief battle against Bianchi over whether the puppy could come in the house, Lambo lies in bed, exhausted but wide awake.

The puppy (who they still haven’t come up with a name for) is laying on his chest, drool soaking into the front of his pajamas. I-Pin is pressed to his side,  _ her  _ drooling soaking into his shoulder, making his arm slick. Both of them were snoring in his ear, making it impossible to relax.

“Do too.” Lambo mutters, trying to force himself to sleep.


	13. Precious

Fuuta stares down at the tangle of limbs and messy hair on their bedroom floor, little feet sticking out from under the covers pointing in every which way.

They don’t know when Lambo and I-Pin snuck in here (last night’s rainstorm knocking them well out), but they find the scene they’re viewing absolutely adorable.

Lambo and I-Pin are snuggling into Fran’s side, arms crossing over his thin frame to hold onto each other. Fran, at his absolute cutest since his mouth is shut and he isn’t speaking, has an arm wrapped around both of them, mumbling softly in his sleep.

Fuuta wants to coo and take a picture, but they also don’t want to wake any of them up and break the spell.

So they lay in bed, taking in the scene, a warm smile on their face as they soak up this small moment of peace.


	14. Flowing

“The next time you have to piss the bed,” Fran says, shoving the futon into the washer. “Can you at least try to piss  _ your _ bed?”

Lambo sits on the dryer with his arms crossed and his eyes watery, a large pout on his face. “I didn’t pee.  _ You _ peed.”

“Tell that to your pants.” Fran snarks, holding up a soaked pair of pajama pants and an equally damp pair of tighty-whities in the other before dunking both into the washing machine.

He slams the lid of the washer and turns it on ‘sanitize’. “Why were you even sleeping with me? You have your own room.”

“I-Pin’s not here.” Lambo whispers glumly, head drooping as he thinks of his best friend (presumably) having the time of her life without him in China for the week.

Fran clicks his tongue at him. “Only babies can’t sleep alone.” he says, finding satisfaction in the way Lambo grunts indignantly in response. “Go take a shower and sleep in Fuuta’s bed, I’ll take the couch.”

“Okay...” Lambo mutters, hopping off the dyer and starting to walk out the laundry room.

He pauses at the doorway.

“Are you going to tell everyone?” he asks, gripping the hem of his shirt hard.

Fran stares at his tiny, trembling back. “Oh  _ yeah _ .” he drawls. “I’m going to tell everyone because I have absolutely  _ nothing _ more interesting to talk about than a nine-year-old pissing the bed.”

There’s a small pause, and Fran can’t tell, for a moment, if Lambo gets what he’s trying to make as clear as possible. He wouldn’t put it past him. Fran certainly doesn’t consider Lambo a smart boy.

But Lambo shifts on his feet and mumbles a soft  _ Thanks. _ before rushing off towards the stairs.


	15. Whale

“Fran, do you like whales or something?”

They’re helping Fran move into his first solo apartment (having spent the first couple of years in Japan staying with Chrome before ultimately growing tired of her terrible cooking and ‘running away’) when the question comes up.

It’s I-Pin who poses the question, prompted to ask by the box filled with nothing but framed pictures of different kinds of whales she just opened.

“What the heck?” Lambo mutters, throwing the books he’s supposed to be shelving on Fran’s new mattress and kneeling down beside I-Pin to look through the box.

Fuuta pulls out from under the desk where they’re arranging the wires for Fran’s computer and gapes at the box from afar. “Wait, that ‘Whales 1’ label actually meant whale pictures? Francis, there are three more boxes like that, why do you have so many whale pictures?”

Fran looks up from the impossible IKEA blueprints for a dresser he had been trying to decipher for the past thirty minutes. He barely glances at the box before turning back to the instructions, wondering if it would be easier to understand if he read the Swedish instructions instead of the Japanese version. “Gaston sent me those.”

“Who the hell’s  _ Gaston _ ?” his friends chorus, eyebrows furrowing as they all try to remember if Fran’s ever even  _ said _ that name in the past but coming up with nothing.

“Gaston.” Fran says flatly, flipping through the manual in his hands and finding that the Swedish instructions really  _ were _ easier to understand. “You know. From France.”

“Um no?” Fuuta says, voice cracking a bit. “You’ve never said anything about a Gaston. Who is he? I thought you didn’t have friends in France.”

“Never?” Fran asks more himself than his friends, staring up at the ceiling as he tried to come up with a memory of talking about Gaston. “Thought I had to have at least once. Huh.”

Fran begins working on the dresser, speaking without looking at his captive audience. “Gaston’s not really a friend. He’s just some kid I went to school with.”

“Can you  _ elaborate _ ?” I-Pin presses, a bit frustrated with how vague Fran loved to be.

“There’s not much of a story.” Fran says, screwing four A pieces into the long B piece before moving on to slide the C and D pieces into place on either side of the B piece.

“Cough it up anyways.” Lambo urges.

“Okay, I guess. So, when I was going to turn six, my grandma and grandpa wanted to throw a birthday party for me. My uncle even planned to fly in from America and take me wherever I wanted.” As he speaks, Fran slides piece E between piece C and D above piece B before placing piece F on top and snapping piece G on in the back. “They wanted to invite all my classmates. They didn’t know no one in my class liked me. I knew no one was going to come, and that the party would go to shit, so I asked Gaston to come.

“He was this huge loser, even worse off than me. He was always picked last in gym because he had really bad asthma and his glasses were always breaking and he didn’t really care about people that much.”

“And he came just like that?”

“No. The little bitch rejected me. Said he didn’t like me.” Fran says, letting just one airy  _ Heh. _ escape his lips as he works on putting together the drawers. “I had to let him pick where we went. And pay him five francs.”

“That’s... Really sad.” Fuuta says, a deep frown finding its way on their face as they think of a little six-year-old Fran buying a friend for a day so his family didn’t think he was lonely.

“And it doesn’t really explain the whales...” Lambo adds.

“Well, the place Gaston picked was the aquarium. It was fine with me since I like water and fish but he was  _ super _ into the whales and dolphins. Like.  _ Weirdly _ into the whales and dolphins.” Fran says, sliding a finished drawer into the dresser before starting on its brother. “He stood next to this one super big tank for an hour to stare at the bottlenose dolphins - didn’t say anything that whole time - and then he turns to me and says, ‘ _ When I grow up, I’m going to be a cetologist. _ ’”

“...And what did you say?”

“I said, ‘ _ Okay. _ ’ and then we went to the touch tanks.” Fran slides the last drawer into the dresser. “After that day he just started giving me pictures of whales. Not everyday, but every time he found a new one that he really liked. And, when I moved to Japan, he just didn’t stop.”

“So,” Lambo starts, the curiosity leaking from his words betraying the casual air he’s trying to put on. “Do you send Gaston stuff back?”

“Yeah. Everytime I get something.”

“What do you send?” Fuuta asks.

“Pictures of the dog?” I-Pin asks. “Or maybe your art or cooking?”

“We only send things we like.” Fran says, standing up, patting his new, perfectly assembled dresser.

As he moves to start assembling his new bed frame, his friends huddle together to speculate on what Fran could be sending Gaston, completely forgetting about helping him unpack.

* * *

“Hey, Gaston, who’re these kids? Family members or something?”

The question is posed by a girl, Aurelie, sitting in a messy room in the French countryside, waiting for her science partner to organize his half of the research so they can compose their presentation for class.

She’s sitting cross legged on his bed as he riffles through his desk in search of the papers (having mixed them up with his own personal research on sperm whales), twisting to get a better look at the hundreds of pictures decorating the wall he’s pushed his bed against.

They’re all of the same three kids: a little asian girl with braided hair, a curly haired white kid with bright green eyes, and an ethnically ambiguous kid with sandy brown hair and a distant gaze. In each picture they’re doing something (laughing, making a mess of someone’s kitchen, climbing trees), but none of them are ever looking at the camera, as if someone took their picture without them realizing it.

Aurelie knows it can’t be friends. Gaston has no friends. He sits alone during free time, and spends lunch combing through books on whales and other aquatic mammals in the library. But maybe they’re cousins that he’s pretty close to, and that makes Aurelie curious.

Gaston is a gruff and aloof kid. Whoever wants to share moments like the ones caught in these pictures, lively and warm and bright, must see something in Gaston she can’t yet imagine.

Gaston looks over his shoulder before quickly turning back to his desk, finally able to pick out the sheets he needs for their project. “Oh. I don’t actually know them.” he says, straightening up the papers in his hands by tapping them against his desk. “Fran just sends them to me.”

“Fran?” she asks, racking her brain for Fran’s that go to their school. There are a couple, but none of them would be caught dead sending Gaston anything.

“A guy from my primary school.” Gaston explains briefly, taking a seat beside her and digging in his backpack for a pen. “We send each other stuff. Only things we like.” There’s a small smile on his face for just a second as he looks up at the pictures.

Then he ends the conversation by clicking his pen and starting to make notes on his sheets, muttering the points he wants to go over in detail during the presentation at her, that small smile gone in an instant.

Taking one last look at the wall of pictures, of these photos this Mystery Fran sent him, Aurelie thinks that maybe she’d like to know Gaston a little better, if only to hear more about his secret not-friend and the kids he seemed to hold dear.


	16. Clock

Fuuta freezes mid stride right in the living room doorway, blinking as they try and take in the scene they’ve just stumbled upon.

Tsuna stares back at them, a handful of Kasugai strawberry gummies hovering next to his wide open mouth. The grandfather clock (given to their family by Nana’s father) has its key lock door wide open, its pendulum laying on the floor at his feet, and what looks to be a false back askew, revealing a secret stash of various snacks.

Tsuna’s eyes never leave Fuuta’s as he speaks, voice shaking. “Fuuta.” he whispers, voice so weak and delicate. “I thought you were supposed to be at a student council meeting.”

“They cancelled it because of a conflict with some tutoring schedules.” Fuuta replies, recognizing the fear in Tsuna’s eyes but not quite knowing what to do with it. They blink at him, noting the way Tsuna’s breathing starts to become erratic. “What. What do you have there, Tsuna-nii?”

There’s a short pause where Tsuna looks Fuuta over and tries to calculate whether he’s intimidating enough to silence them.

He begins sobbing when he realizes he isn’t.

“Please don’t tell the others.” he whispers, sliding down onto the floor. “Everyone’s always stealing my food, I just want to save my snacks.”

Fuuta turns around and walks out the living room, returning with an armful of snacks and sodas in their arms. “I won’t tell if you share your spot.” they say, already walking over and loading the hollowed out back with their stuff. “I’m tired of Fran eating all my stuff.”

“Oh, bless you.” Tsuna gasps, finally deeming it safe to shove the handful of gummies in his mouth.


	17. Angular

“Like this?” Fuuta asks, pushing their hands against Fran’s and forcing him to stumble backwards.

“God no.” Fran answers, immediately switching their hands so  _ his _ hand was holding onto Fuuta’s waist and  _ their _ hand was on his shoulder. “Let me lead for now. You can try and copy me after.”

Fran pulls them along, Fuuta trying to follow him with stammering, jagged steps. They slip more than five times, not falling flat on their face only because Fran is trying is damnedest to keep them both upright. They step on Fran’s foot every other step, him letting out a soft, monotonous  _ Ow. _ each time.

When the song playing off their iPod finally ends they blink at Fran expectantly. “That time wasn’t as bad, right? I think I’m getting the hang of it!”

“...Let’s try it again.”

Fuuta groans as the song starts up again with autoplay, burying their face in the crook of Fran’s neck as they begin to fumble around again. “Am I going to be ready by the time Tsuna-nii’s coronation ball comes around?” they asks, mumbling against his skin.

Fran bites down on his lip to suppress another  _ Ow. _ as Fuuta steps on his foot two times. “Maybe hope for a line dance.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> this is taking another meaning of angular, used to describe stiff and awkward movements


	18. Bottle

The bottle moves in slow motion in front of Fuuta’s eyes before finally landing on them, making them bite their lip.

Their lashes flutter as they look up at Fran, who’s looking at them with an ominous grin on his face.

The other kids (Bluebell, Nosaru, Daisy, and Uni included, as they’re stowing away in the pantry at some black tie interfamily event) all begin to quietly hoot and  _ Ooooh! _ at them, before quickly breaking down into giggles.

Fran scoots himself towards them, leaning forward so they can have a better view of his wicked expression. “You ready, Starboy?” he asks, low voice crawling up Fuuta’s spine.

Fuuta purses their lips and nods.

“Alright.” Fran says, grin becoming wider and more devious. “ _ Truth or dare? _ ”


	19. Drain

“Down the drain again!” Tsuna hoots, slapping his thigh before he jumps around, celebrating his fifth hole in one by dropping his golf club and breaking out into the macarena.

The kids and Enma stare at him with wry looks on their faces, the exhaustion from this one game enough to have aged them at least five years.

“We finally find something this guy is good at,” Fran drawls, leaning on his club like it’s a cane. “Only to find out he’s a sore winner.”

“Shush.” Fuuta whispers, patting Fran’s arm, though they look just as fed up as everyone else in their group. “We have to let him have this. Look at him, he’s so happy.”

They all watch as Tsuna starts doing funky version of the robot, other mini golf patrons beginning to stare.

Enma looks at the display, blank faced, and says, “We are never coming here again.”

“Agreed.” the kids chorus.


	20. Thunder

Fran lays awake in his futon, breathing strained and body weighed down by the large lump glued to his chest. He tries to just go back to sleep, but the knees that dig into his ribs and stomach every time the thunder claps is too hard to ignore.

“Get  _ off _ of me.” he hisses, shoving blindly at the lump, either hand connecting with something that feels like a head.

Two pairs of tiny hands cling to his shirt in a mad death grip, though, and he can’t seem to separate himself from the mass.

“ _ Stop! _ ” Lambo whines, holding on for dear life as Fran tries to shove them off a second time. “Don’t be mean! Just let us sleep with you for the night.”

“Or just until the storm is over!” I-Pin says, trying to compromise.

“Fuuta is literally right here. Sleep with him.”

“Fuuta gets sick during the rain! We don’t want to bother him while he isn’t feeling well.”

“Nana.”

“Out of town with the other neighborhood moms.”

“Tsuna.”

“At Take-nii’s house.”

“...Bianchi.”

“How badly do you want us to die?”

Fran’s arms flip up, landing on either side of his pillow as he gives up on removing them from his personage. “Fine. I don’t care anymore. Just don’t piss the bed.” he says, shooting Lambo a look.

“W-We’re not gonna pee!” Lambo stammers, sliding off Fran’s chest to lay by his side, resting his head on Fran’s arm.

“We’ll be gone by morning.” I-Pin promises, moving into a similar position on Fran’s other side.

“Whatever.” Fran grunts, taking a deep breath now that his lungs aren’t being crushed and closing his eyes. “What kind of mafiosi are scared of thunder? Especially Vongola’s Lightning Guardian.”

“I’m retired.” I-Pin says, snuggling into Fran’s shoulder.

“I don’t have an excuse.” Lambo adds, throwing his arm across Fran and grabbing the hem of I-Pin’s shirt.

The three lay there for a couple minutes, the random claps of thunder making the younger two tense up, before finally they slip away into a deep sleep.


	21. Chicken

Fuuta takes a careful step out the pantry, wringing their hands as wonder why on Earth they picked dare thinking Fran would be gentle with them.

The boy knows no mercy. Even now he taunts them, clucking like a chicken at their back from the safety of the pantry. They turn their head slightly and whisper over their shoulder, “I  _ hate _ you.”

“Bwak buk-buk-buk  _ bwaaaaak _ !”

They groan and shuffle over to the refreshment table near the far end of the party hall. The table is long and has a lavish spread of food and drinks, presented to the partygoers after being born from the blood, sweat, and tears of the Vongola kitchen staff.

Fuuta thinks of those good, hardworking people as they walk over to one side of the table, pick up a wine glass, and tap it with a spoon to get the rest of the party’s attention.

Across the hall Tsuna is looking at them and smiling, but they both know on the inside he’s losing his mind because what in God’s name is going on?

Fuuta can only do so much to not be engulfed by their brother’s manic stare and the eyes of the other partygoers. “Um...” they say, their voice a small squeak. “I have something I’d like to show you all.”

They turn, movement robotic, and set down their glass before taking hold of the snow white tablecloth laying on the refreshment table, keenly aware of the horrified gasp Haru lets out just twenty feet behind them.

Then, before Gokudera can yell at them or Yamamoto can save the day with his quick reflexes or Mukuro can pull his phone out to record, Fuuta pulls the tablecloth.


	22. Exhausted

Fuuta pulls the covers over Lambo’s tiny shoulder and finishes tucking him and I-Pin in before quietly backing out the guest room, holding their breath as they shut the door behind them.

They pause, straining their ears to check for any movement on the other side of the door.

Snoring.

_ Praise God. _

They tip toe over to their room, falling onto the bed so hard they make Fran (who’s already offered himself to death but settled for getting pulled into sleep) bounce on the mattress.

“Ah hmm muu...” he voice calls out to Fuuta from the other side in a language the waking world doesn’t understand.

“Yeah, they’re finally asleep.” Fuuta says, making a guess at what Fran’s trying to say. They bury their face in the crook of his neck, chest pressed against his shoulder blade. “The rest of the Geek Squad needs to hurry with fixing the bazooka; we need to send those two  _ back _ .”


	23. Star

Sometimes - on nights that are particularly quiet, when the sky is clear and their heart’s not in such a bad place - they can hear their favorite star singing to them.

Not clearly with every sound resonating through their body. Not like it used to be, in a voice like a chorus of grand church bells. Not with every word - the language one their heart knows but their human tongue battles with - perfectly distinguishable. Not like it sounded when they were lighter and brighter. Not like it did before him.

But they can hear it.

It’s present as they lay in bed and think of Lambo’s boisterous laugh and I-Pin’s charming blush and Fran’s warm hands.

Present as they close their eyes and tells themself they have Nana’s affection and Bianchi’s pride and Tsuna’s protection.

Present as they teeter on the line of awake and sleeping and remembers their parents, lost and separate from them but still present in the heart they helped make good and kind.


	24. Weak

“Get the rice. Six bags: four regular, two glutinous.”

Yui watches from her free sample station as a little kid wearing pink overalls and a bulbous apple hat zooms past her with a shopping cart towards the vegetables after reciting that short order over his shoulder.

The recipient of that order, a little kid in a sweater vest that seems much more invested in the book in their hands than what their friend (?) just told them, walks in a few seconds after, shuffling towards the rows of rice at a snail’s pace.

“ _ Six bags? _ ” Yui thinks, looking over the kid’s twig-like arms.

Maybe she should offer to get them a cart.

“Little boy-?”

The kid moves their book to their right hand and - with their left - picks up four twenty pound bags of jasmine rice and hefts it onto their narrow shoulder.

Yui drops her tongs and watches, slack jawed, as the kid shuffles over to the glutinous rice and does the same thing with two more bags, perfectly stacking them right on top of the bags of jasmine.

The apple hat kid rushes back from behind Yui, pausing very briefly to grab one of the sausage samples she’s supposed to hand out. “Can you be any slower?” he asks, as if his friend isn’t pulling off some amazing physical feat. “Hurry up, we still have three more stores after this.”

“Mhm.” the strong kid mumbles, not looking up from their book as they follow the speedy boy back towards Yui’s direction.

While Yui can only gape at them, Apple Hat steals two more samples as the two make their way towards the meat aisle, feeding one to his distracted friend before popping the other in his own mouth. “These are good. Should we add them to the list? If we remove the stuff Tsuna and Lambo ask for we’ll have enough money.”

“Mhm.”

They disappear around the corner and Yui is left standing and staring in the direction they left in, barely able to register the rest of the world’s existence when her boss comes over a couple minutes later to scold her for being distracted.


	25. Scorched

“ _ Fraaaaaaaan, it huuuuuuuuurts! _ ”

Fran rolls his eyes as he pours a generous amount of aloe vera into his hand. “And it’s  _ definitely  _ going to get better just from you screaming about it.”

“ _ Fraaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaan! _ ”

“Shut up.” Fran slaps a small pile of clear goop onto Lambo’s back gearing up to do the same to I-Pin. “This is your fault. All those rhymes and songs Fuuta’s drilled into your adorable little heads about sunscreen and you forget it on Sports Day?”

“It fell out my hair. I couldn’t find it.” Lambo whimpers, letting out a relieved sigh as Fran spreads the aloe on his lobster red skin.

“Your hair is not a pocket.” Fran says, using both hands to spread a coat on the two of them at the same time. “I can’t believe you forgot. Even I remembered.”

“It’s cuz you’re pasty.” the two rush to joke, speaking over each other in their frenzy.

Fran takes his two index fingers and prods the raw, red skin on their legs, a small smile forming on his face as they scream in exaggerated agony.


	26. Breakable

“Lambo, you get down from there  _ right now _ !”

Lambo grins and continues to dance on the stone railing he’s standing on, smacking his butt at the big versions of Fuuta, Fran, and I-Pin who are watching him from the window he crawled out of. Fuuta’s yelling, which they only do when they know they’re powerless against him otherwise. “Nyeh! Stupid Fuuta, you can’t tell Lambo-san what to do! He’s not afraid of anything.”

Fran crosses his arms and stares at him. “Oh yes. You’re very brave.” he drawls. “The you of this time broke an arm when he fell off this roof. If  _ you  _ fall down you’re sure to break every single bone in your tiny baby body, not afraid at all.”

Lambo goes very still and very pale. “... _ All _ Lambo-san’s bones...?”

“Oh, every single one for sure.”

“Lambo-san wants to come in.”

“No, I think we’ll let you have your fun.”

Fran moves to shut the window and Lambo scrambles in before the door can move even an inch, gluing himself to the front of Fuuta’s shirt to ensure Fran doesn’t toss him back out.

His obnoxious grin (though quivering) is still present on his paper pale face. “Gwahaha! L-Lambo-san will come in because Fuuta looks like she’ll cry if he doesn’t. He still isn’t afraid though!”

“Sure.” Fran says, shutting and locking the window. “It’s probably better this way. If you did break your bones, they’d have to give you a new skeleton. It’s a  _ very  _ painful process. They remove and replace each bone one by one.”

Lambo pisses his pants right before switching back with his older self.


	27. Expensive

“I have something I’d like to show you all.”

As Fuuta turns and grabs the tablecloth, preparing to single handedly ruin the event, Tsuna doesn’t think about how expensive the food on the table they’re about to clear is.

He doesn’t think about how much money they spent on the giant ice sculpture sitting at the center or how much they’ll have to pay their kitchen staff this month to compensate for the work they put into the lovely spread or the cost of the ingredients that went in to each delectable dish.

He thinks, instead, of the time and energy he spent agonizing over the food allergies and diets and tastes of his guests. He thinks of the sleep he’s lost planning this stupid party he didn’t even want but Reborn insisted was tradition. He thinks of the minutes of his life he will (very quickly) lose to sending apology letters to his guests and staying up to make sure everything gets cleaned and giving Fuuta a slow and painful death.

He’s calculating how many minutes of sleep he’ll lose when Fuuta pulls the tablecloth clean from under everything that had been laying on it, not displacing even a saltshaker.

His guests, after a moment of stunned silence, begin to clap.

Tsuna claps along with them before tipping backwards and collapsing onto the floor, the  _ Crack! _ of his head colliding with the floor tiles muted under the applause Fuuta was being showered in.


	28. Guarded

The hospital is cold and sterile and, at such a late hour, almost completely devoid of life.

Fuuta sits at the edge of a hard, plastic waiting chair. They occupy themself by playing with Lambo’s dark curls as he sleeps (not peacefully) with his head in their lap. The tears on their face are barely drying up, cheeks freezing cold as the air from the A/C blows down on them from the vent above.

They stare at the double doors in front of them, the lit up  _ Operating _ sign casting a blood red light across their face.

The light flicks off near the fifth hour of them just staring down the doors.

The head surgeon walks out, and Fuuta’s stomach rolls at the sight of blood on her scrubs.

They slowly stand (leaning Lambo against I-Pin) and walk up to her.

“His condition?” they ask, no energy or power in their whispering words.

The surgeon looks them over, their flat, neutral expression a bit chilling. “We’ve done all we can for right now. We’re going to have to monitor his condition for the time being.” she says. “He’s not allowed any visitors.”

“I see.” They walk back and reclaim their seat.

“I think it’d be best if you kids go home and try and get in contact with your guardians.”

“I told every nurse that came saying that same line already:  _ They’re all out of the country. _ I’m staying. I need to see where you’ll move him.”

The surgeon stares at them, takes in their stiff posture and cold eyes, and sighs. “Very well.” she says, turning back towards the operation room. “You’ll only be able to sit out in the hall, though.”

“I’m well aware.”

The surgeon walks back into the operating room, skin crawling at the feel of their eyes on her back.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> idk what happened to the chapter order but im too lazy to fix it and it doesnt really matter. this is the end of this. its late and probably the worst batch and for you guys its incomplete (as i dont do romance on this account) but here it is. leave a review and tell me which chap was your favorite. im nevereverever doing a challenge like this again, but remember i do requests when they interest me so dm me if you have a prompt youd think id do

**Author's Note:**

> leave a review if youd like. or dont its your choice


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